Stay
by AirborneGirl
Summary: No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't blame him for the mess she was in. This was all her own doing...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hi there, everyone. I'm pretty excited to start a new story again. This one has been on my mind and waiting to be written for a couple of weeks now, so I guess I have no choice…Hope you enjoy.

By the way, for the story's sake, Minelli is still boss, but Boscoe is still dead. Just so you understand.

**Disclaimer: **Simon Baker for Valentine's Day probably won't happen, so I don't own him/them now and I won't own them/him in two weeks either…oh well. On with it.

**Stay**

_Prologue…_

So this was it. She'd had the party, done the tearful goodbyes, packed her personal belongings in a box and now she was looking at her unfamiliarly empty office, letting her eyes scan the place one more time, burning it into her memory before shutting the door with a gentle click and sighing.

There was nothing here to stay for. Her team had matured, they would do well with Cho as their new boss and she was about to go on a new adventure, a new job, a huge step up her personal career ladder. She ought to be proud of herself; she knew Rigsby, Cho and Van Pelt were, even though they said they were going to miss her a lot. As she was certainly going to miss them. All of them. Not one more than the other.

Angrily, she bit back a sob, wishing she could wipe away the first tear sliding down her cheek, but with her hands now full carrying laptop and box, cursing herself and her lack of self control would have to replace the action.

It was too late to look back, much too late to undo the many wrongs that had brought her to this decision. Whatever there had been, she had most radically thrown back at him. And in retaliation, he had done nothing to stop her from gliding down the slippery slope of misery it had landed her on.

No, much as she had tried to, as much as she had looked at the situation and the events that had taken place during the last five months from every different angle, she could find no fault in his actions, only in her own.

Unless she could blame him for giving into her in the first place…

Setting the box down on an empty desk, she sat down on the couch. His couch, allowing her ever wallowing mind to take her back yet again, to that one evening of weakness, five months ago…

**Chapter 1**

The victim of the homicide they'd been called in for was a 45 year old man. The murderer a seventeen year old girl; his stepdaughter. She had confessed to letting her father trip over some toys so he would fall down the stairs. She hadn't meant to kill him, she had only wanted to render him temporarily incapacitated, so she could make a run for it, along with her two small brothers of nine and six years old.

According to her statement, their father had become a raging mad alcoholic after their mom had been hospitalized with serious brain damage after she had tried to kill herself by swallowing everything she could find in the medicine cabinet and underneath the kitchen sink.

The situation had become unbearable when the father had turned all his rage toward his children, blaming their alleged bad behavior for his wife's problems. While the girl, being the oldest and not his own child, already got the lion's share of his wrath, she had also tried to protect her siblings by taking the blame for their misconduct as well.

It had all just become too much for her.

Lisbon had sympathized with the girl, maybe more than she should have done. But it definitely felt like she was looking in the mirror, taking her back to the past, where she had been in the girl's shoes, trying to deflect her own father's rage from her three brothers. Until the day he had taken his own life and had in fact, liberated all of them.

She had thought she was over the guilt, the pain, the useless anger directed at her dead father without him being there to be the actual target.

Investigation done, reports made and children being brought to safety (the DA had promised her to go easy on the girl and Children's Services had promised to try and keep the brothers together), she and Jane had driven home in silence. For once, she lacked the energy to fight Jane for the wheel, so she let him drive; staring out the window of the passenger's seat without seeing anything. Jane had only put his hand on hers in a feeble gesture to comfort her.

But she had needed more. When he had pulled over in front of her house, she had shyly asked him to come in. Without a word, he had followed her inside, closing the door behind him. And when she approached him, touched him, caressed his cheek and pulled him toward her to kiss him, he had kissed her back. Sweetly, softly, gently.

Only when she had tried to take him upstairs, had he wavered. Woken up, so to speak. Let go of her. Pleaded with her, first only with his eyes, then with whispered words. She had to understand. They should not do this, couldn't do this. They were coworkers. Friends too, surely, but not…he was begging her not to ask too much of him. Not because he was afraid of her, or so he told her.

More because he was afraid of himself. For her sake. For taking what did not belong to him, not yet anyway, not under these circumstances. For the regrets that would certainly come on the morning. For the respect they would lose for the other one, for themselves.

But she hadn't listened. For just this one night, she wanted to feel loved, feel his warm arms around her, let herself be swallowed by his lips, be drowned by his caress. Just to forget she had once been the exact same girl she'd had to take into custody today.

He had put his suit jacket back on. He had taken the car keys back into his hand and was about to turn away from her, when she had launched herself at him. She was too desperate, too emotionally drained for him to make much sense of her words, but he heard one word loud and clear, over and over again.

"Stay."

His resolve had broken.

_Reviews are as always appreciated._

**A/N : **There's another story developing in my head. Since "The Guardian" is on rerun here in The Netherlands, Simon's other alter ego, Nick Fallin, is begging me to give him a nicer outlook on life (such a tragic character) as well as a girl who treats him better than yucky Lulu. I'm willing to grant him that wish, but only if I know the story has any hopes of actually being read. By my current Mentalist readers, perhaps?

Ant thoughts on that? Let me hear them.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **So, so, so, so sorry I made you wait almost three months before posting anything on my story. But I have a surprise for you: I'm uploading it all, the entire story, the whole shebang and I hope you like it!

**Disclaimer**: I own the story, not the couple. They belong to the good people at CBS. And they won't even grant me visiting hours…oh well…

**Chapter 2**

Surely, one of these days, she would prove Patrick Jane wrong. Sadly, the next morning wasn't that day.

When she woke up in the morning with her head resting on his chest, hearing the heartbeat reduced to its normal rhythm during sleep, she felt wonderful. Absolutely in heaven. And remembering what had happened that led up to her overly comfortable position, she felt even better.

She had never given too much thought as to Patrick's abilities in the bedroom. Imagined it? Of course. Sometimes. Okay, well, a lot of times, but actually given it a thought? No, never. It was safer to fantasize about something that would probably never happen anyway, than to give it some thought. Because, really, if you thought about it, how good could he be, after having lived a celibate life for almost six years?

Well, now she knew. And the answer was obvious by the pleasant ache in her more private parts, parts that certainly had lost their privacy beneath his hands, lips and tongue. He was good. Better than good. Great. Wonderful. The sweetest, most caring, most generous lover she'd ever had.

But that wasn't what had proved her wrong. It was the feeling creeping over her five minutes after she'd woken up.

The sudden, clear feeling, make that the knowledge, that she wanted more. Lots more. And she didn't mean the sex. Okay, not just the sex. She meant that she wanted the whole shebang. The falling asleep in his arms, the softly whispered words of comfort, the waking up with his sleeping form right next to her. He looked relaxed and absolutely gorgeous in sleep, the usual guarded posture all gone from his peaceful slumbering body.

She wanted it all. The relationship, complete with breakfast in bed and the "His" and "Hers" towels in the bathroom. Her facial cream next to his shaving cream. Two toothbrushes sharing one glass. She could almost imagine the usual couple banter subjects, like leaving the toilet seat up, leaving his socks right next to the hamper and squeezing the toothpaste tube in the middle. And she wanted it, badly.

Patrick Jane was not on the market for what she wanted. A man who still slept on a mattress on the floor of the room in which his family was killed. Whose only goal was to find and kill the man responsible for their murder. He had tried to warn her, honestly he had, but she had heeded his signals. Selfishly, she had taken from him what he had not been ready to give. And as soon as he would wake up, he would know that now she knew.

How could she let him go after a night like this? But how could she not?

The need to put space between them grew overwhelming and Lisbon reacted blindly to the panic. It was inevitable that he would be roused from his so far peaceful slumber by her jerky movements. He opened his eyes, smiled lazily and got up.

And the whole world collapsed. Armageddon ensued in Lisbon's bedroom.

His irresistibility, his own inability to resist her, became her way out, her excuse to blame him for her own mistake.

Before he could say as much as a 'good morning', she attacked him, lashed out at him with claws out and teeth bared. Vicious words, never to be unsaid, were hurled in his direction, accusations that could never be overruled rolled off her lips while tears were streaming down her face.

Perhaps that's why she never saw his.

He didn't fight her words, said nothing to defend himself, obviously knowing what she was trying to do and why. Painful as it was, even now, he could not hurt her right back. And it only infuriated her even more.

"Do you know how much trouble we can get into? Do you even care?"

Silence. He got up from the bed and started to gather his clothes. More angry words were directed at his back.

"You don't do you? You really don't give a rat's ass about my career, about my reputation, just as long as Jane gets to do what Jane wants to do!"

She knew it was unfair, but she was so desperately, so fully and completely, head over heels, irrevocably and irresponsible in love with him that her only way out was the hardest way. Get him to hate her, brainwash herself into hating him, drive him away faster than a fighter jet at mach 3. Because leaving it in the middle would be like taking off a band-aid one millimeter at a time. It would hurt too much for too long and the risk of a relapse was too high. There was something to say about the fast kill, about trying to cope with addiction cold turkey.

"Just get the hell out of my house, Jane! And I'll have you reassigned to some other team as soon as possible! In the meantime, if you so much as breathe anything about what happened last night into the air around you, I'll dismember you, starting with the one member you obviously can't keep in your pants!"

Patrick's face was ashen and his normally sparkling turquoise gaze was clouded over like a sky promising a thunderstorm, but he still never uttered a sound as he stepped into his dress pants, buttoned up his shirt and fastened his vest with tightly controlled gestures. It was the only way he expressed his own discomfort. He grabbed his watch, wallet and cell phone from her nightstand and slung his jacket over one shoulder.

He gave her one last look, so full of pain and understanding she neither wanted nor deserved, that she had to look away, cheeks burning with the aftermath of her outrage and the upcoming waves of shame, guilt and heartbreak.

Her bedroom door opened and shut with a quiet click that was somehow more deafening and definite than a slam. A minute later the front door opened and closed in the same gentle way.

Upstairs, in her room, a half-dressed, confused and broken Teresa Lisbon had to make a beeline to her bathroom, where she retched and coughed in a vain attempt to rid herself of the nauseous swirling in her stomach. When there was nothing left to do, she dropped next to the toilet boil, sweating, panting and crying harder than she had ever done in her life.

Mission accomplished. She had ruined their friendship.

She wanted to die.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was supposed to be the easy way out. Things were supposed to just fade away into oblivion and be kept there until they knew how to look the other one in the eye again. How long could it take, right?

Too long, she knew after about eight weeks.

It wasn't all bad. They still solved cases, still chased suspects and put bad guys behind bars. When it came to work, nothing much had changed. So no, it wasn't all bad, not at all.

Except that everything else had fallen apart and she missed it, missed him. There were no more post-case celebrations, after the entire team had given up on it, tired of either Jane or Lisbon, or both of them excusing themselves.

There we no more inside jokes, intimate moments, not even occasions where he would misbehave in some way and she had to correct him. Not that he didn't misbehave, but she didn't have the stomach to correct him anymore.

She had hurt him too badly already, it was visible in every way he tried not to be around her, look at her, interact with her. Everything that wasn't work-related was rebuffed. And there was nothing she could do to fix it.

Overall, after eight weeks of struggling, the entire sordid situation had definitely taken its toll on her health as well. She hardly slept at all and when she did, her dreams were filled with either steamy, lustful details or a recount of her one-way screaming match, both leaving her breathless and more exhausted than when she got into bed.

She lost some weight, her face was ashen and gaunt and her movements stiff.

And she was sick. Every single day. Couldn't hold down as much as a cracker, let alone her normal dosage of coffee.

That's why, on a ridiculously beautiful morning, she found herself at her doctor's office, asking the kind motherly physician for something, anything to help her get out of her rut.

She explained a little about the symptoms and what she thought had caused them (though she left out the "I had pity sex with my fake psychic coworker and now we're not even talking" part), blamed it all on her stressful job, waited patiently for all the tests and blood work to be done and braced herself for the mandatory speech about how she herself should take better care of her health and a prescription for Valium or whatever.

She did not get the Valium. Instead, after she asked three times if the doctor was sure, absolutely, one hundred percent positive and only after she had an entirely different speech about her near future health, she got a prescription alright.

For pre-natal vitamins.

When being asked if she knew when her last period had been in order to calculate her due date, she shook her head in self-loathing. How could she not have noticed she skipped a period? Why hadn't they thought of protection? How incredibly irresponsible of both of them! How stupid…ah well, too late for that talk now, wasn't it? Nice going, Lisbon.

"I can do you one better. I can tell you the exact date when it was conceived."

The doctor had just smiled and looked at the calendar right behind them. She would be due early November. She would have Patrick's baby in the fall.

How ironic. She could really, really use the Valium now, but she couldn't due to her condition, brought upon her by the same action she was so badly trying to get out of her mind.

Sitting in her car on the parking lot of the clinic, she took a few deep breaths while clutching the piece of paper with the name of the vitamins on it and several other folders with information she had received. It was hard to wrap her mind around the idea, but still…when she looked down she saw she was gently rubbing her still perfectly flat belly with her left hand.

Right at that moment she knew two things for certain: first; she was having this baby. The flyers about early termination of a pregnancy were of no use to her. Second, and maybe even more important: Patrick was this baby's father and, should he want to (and she somehow knew he would), she would let him be a real father. No restricted visiting hours or stuff like that. It would be pretty weird, but maybe, just maybe, this baby might bring them back on speaking terms.

The only problem now was: how to tell him?

On her way to the pharmacy and later on back on the road heading toward the CBI Headquarters, she tried different scenarios, but for some reason, they all seemed so…cold, so formal. If only they'd been regular lovers, if only this baby was conceived out of a long-term loving relationship. But facts being as they were, she had no idea how he would react to his impending fatherhood.

Again, the irony of the situation did not escape her. Here she was, one of the least maternal women she knew, being pregnant of a man who had lost a daughter, who would at least know from experience what was ahead of them, and she could not count on him to be there for her. For the baby, sure, for herself perhaps as long as she was carrying his offspring, but surely not for her as a person. She certainly didn't deserve that.

There would be nobody to rub her aching feet or to massage her back. Nobody who would go to the local seven-eleven to buy her ice-cream and pickles if she had a crazy food craving. Nobody to ooh and ah with over cute outfits or a teddy bear she just had to have. She was on her own.

If only she could avoid telling him, just let him figure it out and do the math when her stomach would start swelling. Perhaps she could even conjure up another lover and tell everyone her imaginary boyfriend was the father.

Yeah, right. Didn't she just promise her unborn baby it would have Patrick as a father, a real one? Didn't she owe it to the human being growing inside of her?

So many decisions to think of. She tried to rid herself from as many of them as possible as she parked outside the office. She still had a job to do.

Quickly, she hid the pills in the glove-compartment of her car, not wanting to take the risk of Patrick recognizing the name from his wife's pregnancy. Whatever way she was going to tell him, him finding out by accident was not one of them, easier as that might be.

Suppressing a now all too familiar wave of nausea, she got out of the SUV and, dragging her feet, she stepped into the elevator.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

That was as far as she got. By the time the elevator doors opened to the bullpen, her phone rang. Cho. As she got out and stood face to face with her agent, she was quickly filled in on the details of a new case: a convicted rapist, recently out of jail on probation, had immediately broken said probation, stolen a car and had kidnapped the woman who had accused him, claiming he was innocent and would only let her go if she admitted her testimony had been a lie.

Surveillance helicopters had located the car he had taken on the highway heading south. Lisbon and her team were supposed to chase him and apprehend him if they could.

Without glancing at her, Jane got into the passenger's seat of the SUV she had just vacated. Quickly, Lisbon glanced around to make sure no pregnancy folders or other stuff indicating her current condition, were still scattered inside the car, but at first glance, it was clean. Good. There was no time for discussions like that now.

It surprised her that, after everything they hadn't shared all these weeks, Jane still wanted to ride with her. Maybe it was just hormones, but she was happy with it. Perhaps it was a sign.

Concentrating on the road ahead and listening to the helicopter crew to figure out how to catch up with the bad guy, the two cars with CBI agents quickly got a visual on the stolen car, now just a couple of cars in front of them. But the bad guy had them figured out too.

What happened next was a scene worthy of a Tarantino movie as their target did everything he could to get rid of them, endangering every other occupant on the road. Teresa was glad for all the extra mandatory driving lessons she had taken as she maneuvered the SUV steadily through the now panicky traffic, never losing sight of the target car as well as keeping waves of nausea down. Now was not the time to start puking, or to alarm her passenger, as he too seemed a tad green around the gills.

She was now right behind the stolen vehicle, about to overrun it on the side. But then, shots were fired from the driver's seat of the car in front of them. She quickly averted the impact by turning the steering wheel.

She took one concerned glance sideways…

And the world collapsed into oblivion…

What exactly had caused their crash, she had no idea, but she groggily woke up to sirens blaring, people talking and hands pulling to get her out of her seat. Lisbon glanced around, trying to ignore the pain shooting through her neck. Where was Jane?

"Jane?"

The paramedic answered in a kind voice.

"Mr. Jane is being taken care of. He has sustained only minor injuries. Some cuts and bruises and perhaps a concussion. But we have to take care of you first now, ma'am."

As he tried to get a better hold of her, a vicious stab of pain shot through her abdomen like an arrow, momentarily taking her breath away. Then she remembered, and started to panic.

"Baby? My baby!"

"Ma'am, are you pregnant?"

Of course she was, why else would she be so hysterical about a baby?!

"Just…a few…weeks. Found out…this morning…baby…ok?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

It was so ironic. She had made her peace with the fact she was going to be a mom. Now she might not be one after all. She might even never be one. So she wanted this one. Please, God, let her have this one.

She got no answer, neither from God, nor from the paramedic. But his facial expression didn't indicate any hope.

"Ma'am, we're about to move you to the ambulance, but first, we're gonna give you something against the pain. It won't harm your baby, okay?"

Even if it was a complete lie, Lisbon was in too much pain to object, so she welcomed the small needle prick in her arm and let herself be lifted out of the wreckage. Half unconscious, she didn't see Patrick Jane get into a fight with the paramedic taking care of him in order to jump aboard her ambulance.

For once, he didn't get his way and with blaring sirens, they took off. The hemorrhaging in her abdomen didn't stop and halfway through the journey, Lisbon passed out, welcoming the dark.

She woke up in the hospital, with Jane sitting at the foot end of the bed, looking forlorn. A purplish bruise on his right cheekbone and a recently stitched up cut in his forehead showed that he too hadn't come out totally unscathed. But it was the look in his eyes, desperate and sadder than she had ever seen him, that made her gasp.

At the sound she made, he looked up, a gentle smile breaking through. Instantly, she knew he knew. About the baby…and that it was no longer there. Her voice was small and raspy when she asked. She didn't want to, but still she needed to hear it confirmed.

"Patrick? Our baby?"

He broke out in tears, genuine tears and she swallowed a lump forming in her throat. Her pinprick of happiness at the thought that he had wanted the child was shattered when he shook his head.

"You lost it, Teresa. I´m so sorry. The doctor came and told me, he must have figured out I was its father… Why haven´t you told me you were pregnant?"

"I only found out this morning. I never had a chance."

She looked at her stomach, flat like it would probably always be. And sighed. Goodbye dream, goodbye lovely baby. I would have loved to be your mommy, and I'm sorry I couldn't hold onto you…

Yet, maybe this had happened for a reason. God knew she wasn't looking forward to being a single mom, not when she was imagining taking her son or daughter to visit daddy in jail…or the psych ward. Or at the graveyard.

Any of these things could happen after he had killed the man responsible for the death of his family. His only real family, whom, she felt, he would always choose over his living one. He always had so far. So, with this in mind, she let her shoulders slump and bit away her sadness. Still, she couldn't look Patrick in the eye when she spoke the fateful, fatal words:

"Perhaps…it's better this way, don't you think?"

Patrick face contorted into something that almost looked like hatred as he looked at her like he'd never seen her before and was reluctant to see her now. He spat out one sarcastic remark, before turning on his heels and fleeing the room.

"Sure, Lisbon. Glad you dodged that bullet too, huh?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

That was the beginning of the longest, loneliest days of her life. She had to spend at least two more weeks in the hospital. The loss of her baby had taken its toll on her body and the doctors were worried about her total lack of apatite as well as her state of mind.

Teresa Lisbon simply didn't care for anything anymore.

Her colleagues all came by to check up on her. From the way they were acting, Lisbon could tell they had no idea of her pregnancy and out of guilt and pity with Jane, she decided to leave them in the dark about that. Which meant that she had nobody there to unburden her guilty conscience. By now, not even the doctors seemed to believe she had really wanted to have her baby in the first place.

When she was released from the hospital, she lied to the doctor that someone would be there to keep an eye on her, knowing she had no-one left. She had to take a taxi home and when she got there, she was too tired, too emotionally wiped out to do much more than brush her teeth, take a shower to get rid of the hospital smell and fall into her bed.

Exhaustion liberated her momentarily from her worries, but when she woke up, they came back full force.

Since she wasn't due back in the office for another two or three weeks, she didn't bother getting dressed properly. In fact, she hardly got out of the door, dressed herself in bathrobes or track suits and spent her time in front of her television set, watching soaps and eating only delivered pizza or Chinese take-out.

At night, she cried until her throat was sore, filled with self loathing and aimless guilt. If only she had told him the truth. If only he understood how much she had wanted to give her child all the love she felt for its father, how much it hurt her that it was not meant to be and that she had lost any chance to try and have it again. She had lost the right to want it, to want him ever again.

But she did want him. It was so hard to accept that the days where he would know what she wanted before she did, were over and never coming back. In all the years they had known each other, she of course had been sick before, and he had always been there for her.

Clearly she recalled her last serious cold. He had been a constant, if annoying supplier of aspirins, cough medication, fresh juice and chicken broth, not to mention flowers, balloons, teddy bears and other syrupy sweet 'get well' paraphernalia. Her house had looked like a carnival had exploded overnight. But she had loved the attention, coming from the man she secretly loved even more.

Today, her pain was ten times as bad as it had been back then, but so far, not one card had made it to her mailbox, let alone a flower.

A month after her accident, Teresa Lisbon got up, showered and dressed herself properly in normal working attire of pants, shirt and jacket. Her face was still gaunt and her actions a lot less assured, but she needed to get back on the job at some point and now was as good a day as any.

Nobody knew she was coming in, but after she had reported to Minelli, he seemed happy enough to have her back. Standing in the middle of the bullpen, she was hugged by Van Pelt (which kind of made her weepy; but she swallowed it down), awkwardly hugged and padded on the back by Rigsby and greeted with a genuine smile and a firm handshake by Cho.

Patrick Jane didn't move from his couch.

There was no new case and Teresa spent her first day back on the job being filled in on current cases. They bounced off ideas and made decisions on who to bring in for questioning and who to consider a suspect.

Patrick Jane didn't move from his couch.

They went to lunch. He stayed behind. She and Cho went to pick up a witness. Patrick seemed too interested in his puzzle. Teresa asked him a question; he didn't answer. At long last, Van Pelt asked it again. The answer came immediately, even pleasantly.

Teresa bit back her tears, her last shreds of pride and dignity the only things keeping her from falling apart. But it was hard, so damn hard. If only she hadn't deserved it.

Every day she hoped that his silent treatment would waver. And every day she got more desperate in her attempts to get him to…to what? To notice her? To be kind to her? To see and recognize she was dying slowly from the inside out?

But day after day, Patrick Jane didn't talk to her, didn't move from his couch unless being asked by others and didn't answer any of her direct questions.

Four weeks back into the job and Teresa Lisbon was at the end of her tether. It would have been so much easier had she been able to hate him, but as much as she hated what he was doing to her, she still loved him. Hopelessly, desperately so.

Her only consolation was that nobody knew her pain, except for the man inflicting it on her. She figured she had her walls firmly up and that her team didn't have a clue of the extent of her suffering.

But she was wrong. First of all, despite of the fact he was a self-proclaimed victim of her pride, Patrick knew he was causing her a tremendous amount of pain and he wasn't proud of himself. Yet, his own pain, his own confusion prevented him from putting an end to his sadistic game of revenge.

He had known from the moment he had given into her wishes all those weeks ago that it was a mistake and that nothing good could come off their little one night stand. It was that knowledge that had kept him from lashing back at her when they had woken up in the morning.

And though it had hurt him, it wasn't too big a blow. So he figured he would get over it. And he had. Almost.

Until the doctor had told him about the baby, correctly assuming that the man pacing outside his patient's door had to be the father. He had choked at the thought of becoming a dad, only realizing at that moment how much he was ready to have a family again. And whom he wanted to start said family with.

And just when he was thinking of a way to tell Teresa that out of that day's wreckage, something beautiful might grow, that he wanted to play a much bigger part in her private life, she had told him she was relieved not to be having the baby.

She didn't want his child. And she didn't want him. He'd been wrong to think she ever would. Now, every time his resolve wavered, he remembered those words…and steeled his heart against the sad, dead green eyes.

Patrick knew. And so did Minelli. It was the last one who couldn't stand the tension any more. He wasn't sure what had transpired between Lisbon and their elusive consultant and quite frankly, he didn't think he wanted to know, but he knew he cared for the young woman too much to watch her take blow after blow every single day.

So he would help her out. And fate had given him the best opportunity he could have dreamed of. The Organized Crime Unit of the FBI needed a new coordinator and Lisbon would be perfect for the job. It would be a great promotion, the chance of a lifetime. And he would make sure she would get it.

Even if it meant he would be losing his very best agent to the great capitol city of Washington D.C.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Paperwork took a lot of time and even more so in the giant bureaucratic web of Washington D.C., but when it was finally done, everybody from one coast to the other, agreed: Teresa Lisbon would be a remarkable asset to the FBI Organized Crime Unit.

When Minelli had told her that she was a candidate, Lisbon's first reaction had been denial. Even in these strained times, she was reluctant to leave her team. However dysfunctional, they were her family. And speaking of family, she couldn't just up and leave her real brothers to move to the other side of the country?

They were all excuses and it didn't take Minelli a lot of effort to wipe most of them off the table. Her brothers were grown men with their own lives to live and her team had matured and ripened and he was confident Cho would take the chance to lead them with both hands and do a great job at it. After all, he'd learned from the best.

But what got her to take the bait were three different reactions:

Minelli, who hugged her and said: "I have faith in you. I know you can do it. I wouldn't have recommended you if I didn't think you'd be perfect for the job."

Her team, who pretty much said the same.

And Jane. Who said nothing.

It was the last straw, she couldn't take the blows any longer, no matter how deserved.

She went straight back to her boss's office and accepted the job offer in the nation's capital.

Things went very fast after that. She sub-let her house to a young couple who were thrilled with the opportunity. She boxed her personal belongings (pictures, books and knick-knacks) and had them sent to the temporary apartment which was rented for her by her new team and put everything else in storage. Some stuff she held back to give to her team, her 'old' team as personal tokens, crying when she realized she had nothing to give Jane. There was nothing she wanted him to have and nothing she figured he might want to have from her. It seemed like he was hell-bent on forgetting she had ever existed.

If only he could teach her the same thing…but she was probably doomed to love him forever, regardless both physical and psychological distance between them.

Still, sooner than she had pictures, her last day was there. Today, she would say goodbye to her team.

As a parting gift, Grace had assembled lots of pictures and anecdotes from all of them and turned it into a wonderful scrapbook. The cover of the book showed a picture of the five of them, having a drink after a closed case. All looked relaxed and healthy. It had to have been taken at least a year ago.

The inside of the book was signed by all of them, with their well-wishes and lovely greetings. Somewhere at the bottom, a scribble could be interpreted as Patrick's signature. She figured someone had used physical force on him to make him sign, but there was nothing personal coming from him anywhere.

Luckily, Grace Van Pelt interpreted her tears as gratitude mixed with nostalgia and the only one able to read between the lines didn't care to do so any longer.

Hugs were given, one after the other, all making her promise she would call, write, mail and come visit whenever she could. She eagerly promised, though she knew her new job would probably keep her very busy and she wouldn't be able to hold her end of the deal.

Hopelessly, she looked around, but the couch was empty. Patrick hadn't been there the entire afternoon…he hadn't wanted to say goodbye.

It took one more box to collect all her belongings from her own office and she sentimentally packed the origami frog he'd once made for her in it too. She looked around one more time and pulled the door closed for the last time.

Setting the box down on an empty desk, she sat down on the couch.

Understanding her silent request to lurk around on her own for a few more minutes, her team (ex-team still sounded wrong) bid their final farewells and left her sitting there…

Perhaps she had picked up some of his sixth sense, because she felt her entire body lurch when he approached her in the dark. Relief that he had come anyway, mixed with the intensity of her last goodbye made her shudder. She was in no state to speak first, so she was glad he did.

"When is your flight leaving?"

She shrugged. What a lame question. But then again, what exactly had she been hoping for?

"Not until tomorrow morning. I'm staying at the airport hotel for the night."

He nodded. Then: "I'm sure you'll do great out there."

She swallowed. Was this really all there was left of their bond? Awkward silences? Fake compliments? Why hadn't he just stayed away? Was he really out to deal the last blow? She had to hand it to him, it was a vicious one.

"Thanks."

Silence, stretching until eternity. Until she couldn't take it anymore. Wobbling, and no longer caring whether or not he saw, she stood, trying to brush past him. A nanosecond later, she found herself in his arms.

"Patrick, I…"

"Shush. No talking. Talking gets us in trouble every time. Let's just…be."

So they were just standing there, both crying, both hearts filled with regrets about words spoken too hastily and others not spoken at all. Actions which were never taken or those whose consequences were irrevocable.

Many moments later, she reluctantly let go of him and he let her. He kissed her forehead and wiped a stray tear away from her cheek. She declined his offer to drive her to the hotel and had the security guard call her a taxi instead.

The last thing she saw before the driver took a turn to head to the airport was his silhouette as he watched her take off. She ignored the small-talk of the driver, lived through the usual check-inn stuff at the hotel and finally collapsed on the queen-sized bed in her hotel room.

Finally, finally, she could let all the tears escape, crying until she fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

As the taxi rounded the corner, Patrick let out a long deep breath and dragged himself inside the building, prepared for another long and sleepless night. His couch, always so much more inviting than the mattress in his home, had lost its allure. Now, it had become just another place that wouldn't grant him his rest.

Still, he sat down on it, trying to wipe his mind clean. But self-hypnotism was always a difficult thing to do and he had lost faith in his powers a few weeks ago. When she told him she didn't want to have his child.

The ding of the elevator told him someone was there. Looking at his watch in confusion, he saw that the working day was officially over some hours ago. Well, whoever it was, he or she was coming at a bad time. He was here all by himself, not authorized to deal with evidence or to take on a new case and he was too tired and cranky to point it out.

He or she turned out to be Cho, looking pale and a lot less collected than normal, holding a transparent evidence bag containing a pair of sunglasses, a road map, some flyers and a bottle of pills. Patrick didn't know what case it belonged to, until he recognized the sunglasses.

They were Lisbon's. She had had them stashed away in the glove compartment of the SUV when they crashed. Which meant that whatever else was in the bag, was probably hers as well.

But why did the contents seem to scare the normally so balanced Kimball Cho?

With labored breath, his coworker told him what had happened that brought him here, bag in hand.

"I was just heading home when I got a phone call from the garage that nobody had ever picked up the contents in the SUV wreckage. So I figured I would take a detour and pick up the stuff. Perhaps there was something in there that Lisbon would want to have back. But this stuff…is it hers? Jane, what do you know about this?"

Patrick swallowed heavily and reached for the incriminating bag. The Korean man didn't say anything, just handed the bag to him. After a nod of consent, Patrick opened the bag and checked the flyers. They were all for pregnant women. A little shocked, he took out the pills. The label told him they were prescribed to Teresa Lisbon, on the day of the crash.

He remembered seeing the name of the pills before, many years ago. In his own bathroom. His wife was taking them, when she had found out she was having his child.

But why was Teresa taking pre-natal vitamins when she suggested she had never wanted the child?

Or had she?

Then why had she told him it was all for the best?

What exactly had he missed?

Trembling, he sat down on the couch again and for some reason he didn't even know, he started his confession to the unflappable Kimball Cho.

To his credit, the Korean agent didn't flinch while Patrick told him all about the one-night stand he and their former boss had shared, about the morning after and the pregnancy that was not meant to be. When he was finished, he gave his coworker a rueful look.

"I thought that, because she was relieved not to be pregnant any more, that she might not want the baby at all. I mean…she would never have gotten an abortion, would she? And I would never have given it a thought either had she wanted my opinion. I would have been there for her, would have done my very best to support her in all ways possible. And I know I would have loved my baby, our baby. So why, why did she let me believe she was happy to have miscarried? It couldn't have been revenge, could it? She is not that mean…she couldn't be…"

"Perhaps she was just scared."

Patrick, restless now that the cat was out of the bag, jumped up and started pacing.

"Scared of what? She would have made an excellent mother, I'm sure."

"Scared of you. Your reaction."

"You think? I hope not. I mean, what's so scary about me?"

Cho almost had to smile, if it weren't that sad. Was this the man who identified every murderer before the rest of them could start questioning all suspects? Was this a man who had half the country believe he could speak with their beloved deceased?

Poor guy, he was so blind. Blind to the fact that their ex-boss was running away from him because he could offer her no future, no security, no life…

"Jane…did you want this child?"

As if stung, Patrick turned to face the other man.

"I just told you I did!"

"I know. But was that because you wouldn't have had any choice, or did you ever picture yourself becoming a father again in the future?"

Well…no. His silence was enough answer to Cho. Of course Jane hadn't given his future a second thought. One way or another, his life was supposed to end at the exact day and time his nemesis Red John's would. Beyond that, there was no planning, no healing. And least of all, a family.

No baby. No Lisbon.

No wonder she was relieved. He had never given her a reason to think he wanted more than the one night they had shared. He had never fought back when she made him leave the next morning, thinking it was for the best and at the same time making her think he never really cared in the first place.

How could he have let the situation deteriorate like that? He should have fought, kicked and screamed to get it through her head how much he wanted to be a part of her life. But of course, he hadn't known it himself. Had heedlessly ignored the warning signs, deeming himself incapable of having sophomoric, time-consuming and perfectly irrational feelings like love. Falling in love was dangerous and only idiots would disregard that danger.

Patrick Jane was not an idiot.

Right. And a herd of pigs just flew in close formation over the CBI building, and the penguins were having a snowball fight in hell.

He had to take action. Slapping Cho on the back, he took his jacket, car keys and cell-phone and headed out.

"Find out Lisbon's room number and text it to me, would you?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but Cho had already picked up the phone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The room was dark and gloomy when she woke up from the pounding on the door. It took somewhat frightening moments before she realized she was not in her own bed and what the reason was. When the current situation got through to her, she only wanted the endless knocking to stop.

Trying to remember whether or not she had ordered any room service and coming up blank, she figured that the only way to get back to the comfort of the bed and the oblivion that sleep would provide was to answer the door and tell whoever it was to get lost. In a nice, polite way, of course.

So she hadn't ordered room service after all. It was a weird first thought to have, but there it was. What else was she supposed to think when the person standing in front of her was the sole reason she was there in the first place?

Words did not want to come to her aid, so she just waited, with guarded eyes, for whatever it was he still had to say, praying it would be over quickly.

Jane seemed to take her silence as an invitation. He calmly walked past her small body and closed the door behind him. Teresa, now understanding that this was definitely not going to be over any time soon, found a chair and gingerly sat down on it, all the while avoiding to meet his eyes.

After a lifetime of tension-filled nothingness, Jane started by stating the obvious:

"You did want the baby. You wanted to keep it."

Teresa nodded, his apparent amazement triggering her vocal chords.

"How could you think I wouldn't? I never said I wasn't planning on keeping it!"

Now thoroughly confused, he repeated the words, the fatal words she had spoken to him in the hospital.

"Perhaps…it's better this way. That's what you said Teresa and I thought it meant that you never wanted this baby, that you might even have considered, you know…"

He couldn't get himself to say the last words out loud.

She felt sorry for him, sorry because he'd actually believed she would have been capable of murdering his child and more so because it was clear he still had no clue why she felt that not having his baby was better for the both of them.

But how to tell him? Perhaps she should just start talking, hoping that the words would just form themselves.

"Patrick, let me try to make you see. Please, give me that chance. And please, don't interrupt me, let me finish. Can you do that?"

He nodded quietly and sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to start her side of the story.

"First of all, we both know this pregnancy wasn't planned. Heck, we never planned the way it was created. It was quite a shock to find out, but I never, not one moment, planned to get rid of it. I could never kill another one of your babies, Patrick. I'm not that cruel. It hurts me to think you thought me capable of that."

She had promised herself not to cry, but the first tears were announcing themselves in the corners of her eyes. Biting them back, she continued:

"I wanted to tell you the same day, but I never had the time. Then the accident happened and everything was too late anyway. Maybe I just said what I said to keep myself from going crazy. Or maybe…maybe I was right. Painful as it is, maybe this is not a wise moment to put a child, your child on this world."

She saw he wanted to protest, but she indicated she wasn't done yet. With her gaze, now blurry with tears, she begged him to remain his calm for just a while younger. When no words escaped his pursed lips, she moved on again, getting to the hardest part of her story:

"Truth is Patrick that I love you. I have for a long time and I've tried many ways of making it stop. It's killing me inside, because I've learned a long time ago that I could never be a substitute for your dead family and the pregnancy was never going to change that. You would have loved your baby, I know that much, but…I still wouldn't be your wife and this child would not be anything like your daughter. And perhaps not immediately, but sooner or later we were going to lose you to your quest. To the promise you made to your real family."

Tears now flowing freely down her cheeks, she turned to look at him. She bit back another sob upon seeing his complexion. He was ashen. He was even shivering violently.

Pained eyes met pained eyes. Then, tears mixed with tears as Patrick pulled her onto the mattress next to him and hugged her hard. When he pulled away, it was his turn to explain himself.

"When the doctor told me about the baby, there were so many emotions running through my head. I was relieved that all the blood was not a sign of you bleeding out. You were still alive and I wouldn't have known how to cope with the situation had I lost you. But then I started to picture you being pregnant. It was a wonderful, beautiful sight. One I always believed I didn't deserve to have again."

Knowing she wanted to object, he smiled through his own tears and put three fingers against her lips. Obediently, she granted him his silent request, as he had granted her hers.

"Revenge is an easy emotion, Teresa. It doesn't require too much soul-searching. It simply puts all the blame for a messed up life on one person's shoulder. But I know, deep down, that despite of him being the catalyst, despite of the fact that I still believe and always will believe he deserves to be put away, it's not Red John who's been holding me back all these years, it's me."

He smiled again, seemingly confused by his own revelation.

"Call it fate, call it whatever you want, but for some reason, I'm still alive. And you've been the only constant factor in that life ever since. I love you, my darling Teresa, but I've lacked the strength to tell you until now. Knowing you did want our child… knowing that I was so close to having something real to live for again, a family…how could you think you were no substitute? You're more than that, so much more."

He let go of her just to be able to absorb the look in her eyes as the truth sank in. He was here. He loved her. She could love him back now.

There was just one thing she needed to hear:

"So…Red John?"

Patrick sighed. Even now, the decision to let go was hard, but he had to make a definite choice between a life with Teresa or an oath sworn out of pain and guilt.

No…wait…that wasn't too hard. He was just being stupid and he was done with being stupid. So he answered the only way he could:

"We'll find him and he'll get what's coming to him. But he owes you his life, since I won't let him ruin mine. Not again, never again."

Teresa smiled through her tears, before pulling him closer for a kiss. He kissed her back hungrily for a moment, but then he pulled back.

"Teresa?"

"Yes, Patrick?"

"Stay."

THE END

So…any good? Reviews are much welcomed.


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